


Dirty Sheets

by KendylGirl



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: And We Need the Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Pining, True Love, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/pseuds/KendylGirl
Summary: In October 2019, Tim has to go to California, and he stays in Armie's condo; he's home.  And he's not the only one.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 75
Kudos: 415





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onlyastoryteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/gifts).



> Were it not for onlyastoryteller, I may never have finished this. When I was discouraged and about to scrap it, she said to write it for her. So I did. Thank you for your extreme talent and continual inspiration!
> 
> Willowbrooke, as usual, is a star who always comes through for me. Thank you for all that you do to set me on the right path!

I drop my bag just inside the door and sigh.

_Home_.

Well, sort of.

In London, Armie had folded the key into my hand while pressing his body against mine and kissing my neck from behind.It had been intimate and shy at the same time, like he had wanted to somehow make it special, to make it a real gesture, but he was afraid of how I’d react.

“This one’s yours,” he’d murmured.“If you want it.”

“If?” I’d leaned back against him and huffed the word into his ear, then turned around and circled my arms around his neck, pushed my fingers into his hair.“ _If_?What are you _on_ , Hammer?”

I had seen his eyes shift into answers he did not say. _On a hook_. _On a precipice._ The pink had risen up from his cheeks to balance the blue light there.He was a perfect sky at sunset.“Do you want me to have it?” I’d asked him softly, evenly.“The choice is yours.”I’d wanted him to answer honestly.I mean, he’d been in a stifling relationship, one that had died several years before it officially ended.Maybe he didn’t want to jump into another.Maybe I’d been moving him too fast. 

Maybe he’d felt again like he had to work mechanically to please a partner without once bothering to ask himself what _he_ really wanted, that worn groove of submission his default after years of sanding it to a smooth finish with the unused parts of his heart.

His eyebrows had twitched.“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you get to decide.How fast, how slow.”I’d swallowed.“Or if…if you even…”

His mouth had fallen open slightly, like he was going to say something, but he’d merely sucked in a breath and held it.The weight of his gaze on me had started to burn. But he’d waited for me.

Again.

I had to drop my forehead to his chest before I could speak, my words muffled by the cashmere of his skin.“If you even want to do this with me at all.”

One of his hands had risen to grip my waist, nearly large enough to wrap around to the other side of me.The power there had not matched the thin voice that had finally trickled out and onto the floor.“Why would you say that to me?” 

I’d raise my head, and his eyes had been anguished, the color that had filled his face moments before suddenly drained away. _No, not this_.This hadn’t been what I meant at all.I had sunk my nails into his skull, pulled at his hair to lift me up to him, hoped it hurt enough to jar him out of his spiral.“Listen to me,” I’d hissed at him, “I just want you to do what the fuck you want, whatever that is.I don’t want you to pretend that you don’t exist anymore.I know how you…I know how it’s been for you, and I don’t want to be the one who gets in the way of you finally having a life that is yours!”I somehow had held his eyes with mine though the tears that had welled up from somewhere deep to slick the grip of my desperate gaze, and when the drops had pushed out and rolled down to the corners of my mouth, I had rippled my lips and invited them inside, swallowed them down until I would need them again, for the time when I would get on yet another plane and leave him behind.

He’d watched the streaks form on my skin, stared at my mouth as his mind had turned over, need and uncertainty warring for space amid the tension of his shoulders.“Tim.Do you…”He’d reset his feet, blew a long breath from his nose.“I want…”And when he’d faltered, when his chin had sagged to his chest and his eyes had screwed shut, part of me had screamed, because he was so hesitant, like he’d never allowed himself this before, the luxury of rolling out his true thoughts to the open air.Like it had never been worth it, had never mattered before.Like _he_ never did.

I had felt him start to withdraw, so I’d massaged the sides of his neck, like I could wring it out of him physically, everything he’d been terrified to say.“Say it, Armie.Just _say_ it, whatever it is.Because I just want you to be _free_ , for the first time in your goddamn life!Even if it means that…that you’re not,” and I’d choked, lost my voice for a second because it had been so hard to make myself push these words out, “even if that’s not with me, do you understand?I don’t want to stop you from…from _anything_.”

He’d sucked in a breath, and his hands had come up around my head, big paws clutching at my skull to pull my face up.He’d been searching, his eyes carving mine out in thin slices of colored light.“Freedom,” he’d articulated the word at me, untested, unknown by the shape of his mouth.“I’ve wanted to be free since I was five years old and finally able to figure out what disappointment looked like on a person’s face.Do you know what it’s like, Tim?Do you know what it is like to fall short on every list you’ve ever been on, to never be enough—not once, not _ever_ —for anyone? _Do you_?”

His hands had clenched, red and hot as they had drug across my skin, and he’d stared at me with a wildness that I didn’t think I had ever seen, swarmed me tight-jawed, all shallow breaths and adrenaline, like he could have snapped my neck and not even realized he’d done it.I had been mesmerized.Maybe I’d been scared, but all I had felt from him was need—aching, gutting need—so I had loosened my hold on my own boundaries, on my ability to resist a single impulse.My body had moved in his hands, held up by them, by the intensity of his gaze.

“Free…”He’d breathed the word in and out, like it was the oxygen he’d craved, and he had pulled me in, pulled me up, breathed the word over and over into my hair, against my temple.“Tim, don’t you know?”My face had fallen into his neck, and my mouth had opened, teeth sinking into the muscle, anchoring me in his skin.“ _Jesus_ , don’t you _know_?”

“Say it.”I had raised my face, drug my cheek against the rough of his jaw, let my tongue pull his ear closer so I could plead to it directly.“Say it, Armie, say it to me…I want…I…”

He’d growled and lifted me clean off the ground.My legs had dangled until his huge palms had come up under my thighs, and I had felt my world tilt as we’d swirled around, large steps forward until we’d swiveled and dropped down, thudded into the dense mattress with me in his lap, and his arms had crushed me against him.“Tim… goddamn it, _Tim_ …”I’d locked my ankles behind him, locked him to me with one point of calm while the storm engulfed us, while he’d raked his fingers through my hair, waves of it wracking him, tossing me.“You…it’s…”He’d tugged and pulled, bunching my hair in his fists, eyes surging, blue enough to paint my face with veins of awakened hunger, and I had met them, let them consume me, prayed that the motion would shake loose the rest of the words, the rest of the ache that he’d held so tenaciously before he’d had me to hold onto.“Tim, do you know what it’s like to be _on_?Like when we’re working or doing press or something like that?You’ve got to measure your words and work the room and…and project an image.It’s fucking _tiring_ , isn’t it?”

I’d nodded slightly, my heart full of him, how his arms had cradled me while he’d murmured to me, soft and desperate, rushed and patient, all at once.

“That’s how I was all the time. _All the time_.Do you know what that does to you?Being on your guard constantly, pretending _constantly_ , being someone else _every fucking minute?_ I hated it, but it was all I had ever known, so I thought that was just what life was supposed to be, right?That’s just how it was.But _no_.No, it wasn’t.And do you know how I found that out?I met Luca and went to Italy to film a movie.”His thumb had pulled my cheek back, massaged my temple with a velvet touch.“I went to Italy and met you.”

My legs had clenched around him.“Armie…”

“And it only took six days.”

“What did?”My eyes were heavy, my body giving itself over to him, his truth a serum that thickened my blood and made me want as I never had before.

“It took six days of being around you before I realized that you were different.We’d gone to that coffee shop off the piazza, and I ordered about six cappuccinos in less than an hour, and I was so hepped up on the caffeine that I started doing impressions.You remember that?And I started doing DeNiro and you…you just joined right in with Pesci, and it was fucking _hilarious_ , and I thought, ‘Holy shit, he gets me, and…and he actually _likes_ me,’ and I was just having fun and being an idiot, and when I got back to my apartment, I realized how I hadn’t thought about it once the whole day.I hadn’t thought about what I was _supposed_ to do or _supposed_ to say or any of that shit.I was just _me_.”He swallowed hard, hand on the back of my neck, nose brushing my cheek.“And you wanted me.”

“Want you. _Still_ _want_ you,” I’d oozed, melted butter instead of flesh and bone.

A kiss to my jaw, hands hot on my back.“And I knew you ten days when I fell in love with you.I know I did, that day when you forgot your key and tried to get into your place through the window and got stuck, and I had to try to push you in the rest of the way.Remember that?And we _both_ fell in, right on the floor like a couple of idiots, just rolling around on the carpet, and I looked over at you, with that _glee_ on your face, laughing so hard, just so _free_ and open, and I knew.I just _knew_.”

I’d ground down on him, unable to stop myself.“My God…Armie…”

“ _That_ is freedom, Tim.That’s what it’s like—to laugh out loud, to be who you are without reservation and to be _loved_ for it.It’s not being ‘by myself.’There is no freedom inherent in being _alone_.”And his gaze had flickered then, had gone remote for a second.“I mean, fuck, I guess I’ve really been alone most of my life… _lots_ of it, lots of alone…”Then he’d come back to me, looked me dead in the eye.“But before you, I’ve never once been _free_.”

I’d kissed him then, kissed him like it was brand new, like we were beginning again and my air could only come from his lungs, like my lips could not bruise, like the scrape of his scruff was all that could make my skin sing.

I’m dizzy now, just thinking about it, so I lean back against the door, breathe deep.It doesn’t help because this whole place reeks of him still, though he’s been gone for weeks.I raise a hand to my cheek in the darkness, pretend it’s him nuzzling me as he’d done that night, when he’d sucked on my earlobe and whispered, “Fuck me, Timmy…please, set me free again…”

I flick on the light and look around, over the comfortable, understated furniture on the light wood floors of the living room, his guitar propped on the ottoman, his remade Oliver bike like a sculpture in the far corner, the book he’d been reading on the side table.I squint to see the title, and my heart clenches:it’s _Little Women_.

_Damn you, Hammer_.As if I needed to fall more in love with him right now. 

The opposite wall is all black glass, and during the day, it will look out over the hills and a small park.I see my reflection in them, an alien, solitary figure in the vast room where I can see him in every corner, yet somehow I still belong. _All you expect is for me to be me_.For a moment I feel like I could squint and see him over my shoulder, turn to find him there with arms thrown wide and a grin forming on his face, two fangs showing on the horizon of his mouth.

I go around the corner into the kitchen and stop in my tracks.There are two bags of groceries on the counter and a note propped against them:

_Tim,_

_Armie called and I delivered (because I’m awesome!)Drinks in the fridge.Clean up after yourself!_

_Call if you need something, brother—_

_Tyler_

I didn’t really eat on the flight, so I’m starved, but I’m not in the mood to get an Uber or wander the neighborhood and run the risk of being recognized like I had been last year.No one needs the flood of rumors and speculation, not right now, after all we’ve gone through to keep it quiet.I lift boxes and bags out of the sacks—tortilla chips and apples, cheese and Cap’n Crunch.I smile.Armie must’ve told him what to get.

The fridge has juice, milk, and beer, so I grab a bowl from the cupboard and dump out an obscene amount of cereal, adding milk until the little gold squares mound up high enough to spill over onto the counter.

I snap a picture of the food, caption it << _CA Cuisine_ 😜 _> >_, and send it to Armie.

My munching echoes in the silence.There isn’t even the usual hum of New York traffic to break the weight of it.

I stare at my phone, though it’s gone black.

Keep staring, keep munching.

Drink down the leftover milk and put the bowl in the sink.

Climb back onto the stool.

_What time is it there?_ I’m too tired to do the math in my head.

I drop my chin into my palm, run my finger around the slick edges of the phone.

Swipe it open.Sigh and palm it, roll my head to crack my neck. _Get a grip, Chalamet_.

In the quiet, it’s the details that assault me.There’s a brown spot on the stovetop where I burned cheese.His favorite griddle pan is still in the strainer by the sink.Slung over the back of the sofa is the blanket I’d swaddled myself in when he said he was so hungry he’d let a burrito fuck him.He’d laughed so hard at me.And then he’d kissed me.And kissed me more.And more.And before I knew it he was on his back on the living room rug, and I was kneeling on my hands and knees over his face, groaning shamelessly at the feel of his tongue on me as he swallowed and swallowed, at the grip of his hands on my hips and the brush of his spiked hair on the inside of my legs, trying not to lose control and thrust too deep, coming so hard my arms had buckled.And he had caught me, lifted me straight up in the air, licking at his lips, and had placed me on his chest, where I’d curled into a ball, quivering and panting, and he’d stroked my arms and whispered, “Okay, I’m full.”

I growl and grip at the phone.Flick it open with my thumb and just sit there, biting my fingernail, staring at the miniature keyboard.What am I supposed to write?

_I want you._

_I want you in ways I never knew I could want anything because_

_you’re amazing and funny and distracting, and just that sound_

_you make—you know, that fucking low hum you do when you’re_

_tired and don’t want to talk or are just being a jackass and making_

_fun of me—is enough to get me hard in like three seconds._

_I love you so much I’ll tear up if I let myself think about it for long,_

_and I can’t believe anyone would let you go, and I almost_

_hyperventilate when I think that you nearly passed on our movie_

_and I may never have met you._

I exhale hard and let the stream buzz my lips, wipe my nose with the back of my hand.

<< _I miss you_ >>

I slide the phone into my pocket and grab an ale from the fridge, then head up to the bedroom.His big, beautiful bed makes me smile—an upholstered piece of king-sized art with a scrolled back, practically on stilts to accommodate his own extra-lofty frame.It is mussed and unmade, like he’s just rolled out of it and shuffled into the bathroom.

He’d warned me about it in London.“I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’ll find when you get there.I had to leave pretty quickly the last time I went back to L.A. to see the kids, so I didn’t have time to change the sheets or do the laundry.Can’t promise there won’t be something growing in the trash can, either.”

I toe off my shoes and climb up onto it.The pillows are in a vertical line down the center of it, his habit of cradling them when he sleeps instead of simply laying his head on them.It suits him, too, like he’s always trying to protect someone or something, even in sleep.I put my bottle on the nightstand and gather one up, press my face into it and inhale deeply, rub it around on my skin. _Jesus, I love that smell_.Sleepy Armie, too wiped to bother with a shower, soft musk with the hint of a Bounce dryer sheet.

My eyes peek over the end of the pillow to his nightstand.There is a Father’s Day card that Hops had made him, along with two small framed pictures.One is the picture of him and Ford on the staircase that I’d taken months ago—the two soft boys, ready to head up for a nap.The other is one he’d snapped of me asleep on him in the bed of my old Bronx apartment; I am curled up perpendicular to him, his legs crossed at the ankle so that they cradle my head at an awkward angle, but I am so out of it that my mouth has wrenched open and a dark spot of drool has formed on his burgundy sweatpants. 

_Jesus, will you delete that!I look like a junkie on the subway!_

_Oh, shut up, you’re adorable.You look like…you look like Timmy,_ my _Timmy_ …

I lean over and grab my bottle, down half of it while I look around at his closet doors and let the vague images I have of that day work through my mind.I wonder where those sweatpants are now.God, to feel them again, that brushed cotton against my skin?Like he was the furnace beneath me, like I could hear his breathless chuckle again when he’d told me how I’d wiped my mouth on his knee and climbed on top of him and pushed my face into his belly and hugged his thighs and fell asleep again just babbling nonsense like _bee quizzes furry_ and _dish bear swimming._

It had been nothing.Nothing monumental had happened that day, but all of it fills my chest up because somehow, it had been everything, too.

And if Armie were here, he would understand.

Armie would take care of me.He would make me feel good.

But there’s no sense in—

Or.

Or maybe…

I slide off the bed and pad over to the closet, tug on the knobs until the tidy pocket doors disappear into the walls.I run a hand over the shirts hanging there, finger one or two of the belts curled on a shelf.

Wait, is that _rope_ a belt, or is it…? 

I bite my lip and silently vow that even if it’s not, I’m going to convince him to start wearing it around his waist, a little ‘Keep Out’ sign in a language few people would admit they can speak.

My eyes fall on his laundry hamper.

_Jackpot_.

Without thinking, I strip off all of my clothes in just a few tugs, leave them in a heap on the floor beneath me as I drive my arms into the hamper and pull out a mound, stumble backwards blindly, toss it onto the bed.I grin and leap into it like a kid into autumn leaves, burrowing down and covering myself in the treasures that nature has discarded, colorful pieces of heaven.

Grey workout shirt and blue jeans and nylon socks—I want it all.I roll around, writhe like I’m dipped in honey, pop up with his boxers between my teeth.I can’t help it.I close my eyes and slip them over my head and fall back into the mound, clap them to my face with one hand, grab my cock with the other.Trapped in a hood that smells like him, like those hidden parts of him that belong only to me, smothered by them, breath wrapped around him, feeding on him.

I moan, sucking the fabric into my mouth.My strokes are slick and fast.“Please…Armie, _please_ …”I need it, and I chase it hard, jerking my hips to the rhythm of my hand.It doesn’t take long to push me over the edge.

My breathing slows in the darkness. _I miss you so much_. 

I sit up and pull off the boxers, use them to clean me up, and toss them to the foot of the bed.

I am exhausted.

The sheet is bunched up beneath me, so I crawl up the bed and pull it with me, along with Armie’s ripped Nike sweatshirt, which I stuff my arms into like a hug, and collapse.

* * *

I have to be dreaming it.

There is no way the mattress has dipped, no warm skin being pressed to my back, no scrape of stubble on my shoulder, no soft lips against my ear. _Surprise_ , _Timmy_.

I like this dream.It’s my favorite one.I’ll keep it.

Pull the furry arms tighter around my waist.

_I’m so glad you’re here._

* * *

Sometime later, the dream transforms.

The room is sheathed in darkness, and I’m flat on my back.I feel good.The sheet has pulled down past my waist, so I grab for it blindly.

_God_ , I feel good.

My legs fall open, and my hands reach around the curve of his head.He looks up at me, and I swear his eyes glow a blue neon and light the whole room.“Relax, Timmy, it’s okay,” he whispers.“I’ve got you.”

Warm and moist and _yes_.A surge, a gentle suction, a drag and a caress in one.A groan, mine.Needy, _yes, yes_.Stretch my tendons, wider, always more for him.A hum, distant, a vibration in my skin, through my veins. _Fuck, yes._

A cry ripped from my throat.A groan, his.Wet slurps, a kiss on my stomach.

_Sleep now, Timmy_.

* * *

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?”

Above our heads it’s bright, midmorning sun filling the room, but tucked under our dome of covers, we hold onto our twilight a little bit longer.

“Because I didn’t know if I’d really be able to swing it, and I don’t like to make promises I can’t keep.”

I kiss him, lean down and swirl my tongue around his nipple, a soft graze of teeth.He sucks in a sharp breath.His hand resting on my back slides down to my ass, squeezes gently.

“How much time do you have?”

“Told the nanny I’d get the kids at 1:00, after their school group thing.”

I hum, kiss his neck.

“And— _oh_!”He chokes for a moment when I probe his ear with my tongue.“You?”

“My meeting’s at 2:00.Pauline’s film thing’s next Saturday.”My hands wander, grab fistfuls of him.I slide my leg between his, push against him, the thick heat of him.

“Wish I could stay for that,” he sighs.“Tell her to come over.I’ll cook for us.”

I nuzzle his temple.“She’ll give you shit about the mustache.”

“She wouldn’t be Pauline if she didn’t.”

“When do you have to go back?”

“I fly out Wednesday afternoon.”His arm flexes, the hand working between my cheeks, bringing me on top of him.I slot my hips with his, slow drags up and back.He groans, laps at my neck.“Timmy…. _Jesus_ …”

“We have five days.”I plant my fists on either side of his head, grind my hips against him, slowly, slowly.“You’re really going to have to wash the sheets this time before you go.”

Both of his hands are on my ass, the heels of them taking over the motion of my hips.“I’m happy to, if _you_ wash the clothes.” 

He smirks at me, and I lick it off, kiss him hard.“I’m taking some with me, just so you know.That jean jacket over there is mine now.”

“Take it.Take it all, if you want.

“What, and leave you naked?”

“Fine with me.”

His middle finger pets at my hole, snuggles against it, and I shiver, lick my lips.“You love me?”

“Yes,” as an exhale, offered up to me, his own breath, freely given.

“You sure?”I just have to hear it again.“You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Yes.”

I pin his gaze, make sure he knows. _Me, too._ Swallow hard.“Forever?”

His eyes smile up at me.“I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found myself inspired by recent events to add to the domestic adventures in someone's California condo.
> 
> Here's hoping the guy finds his bliss (and he's welcome to use this fiction as his guidebook...just saying...)

I fold my arms together against my chest. Lean against the back of the couch. Cross my ankles.

Recross to the other side.

Listen to the hum of the air conditioner.

Bite my lip. Crack my neck.

Wait.

The sun’s gone down already. Stare at the same spot on the floor as the light turns grey.

Wait.

Hear a siren pass outside.

And wait.

Finally, the hesitant scrape of a key in the lock.

They’re already there, the tears already in my eyes, rolling down, tickling my cheeks. Dripping onto the wood floor.

I clench my nails into my biceps. And wait.

The door swings open and a dark duffle pushes inside. Mumble of, “What the fuck is…where’s the goddamn light switch…?” More clunking, and the driver clatters to the floor, the heavy club head rolling across the entryway. “Oh, _shit_ …”

My tears surge. Him and his grumbly, tired voice. Him and his overstuffed luggage.

Him.

He flicks the switch with the back of his hand, and a recessed flood soaks the foyer in yellow light. He rolls his suitcase over the threshold and kicks it inside before he slides in and closes the door with a nudge of his hip.

He drops the rest of his bags with a clunk and sighs heavily, morphs it into a yawn as he stretches his arms above his head and behind his back, scratches at his buzzed hair. Unknots the bandana around his face and tosses it on the side table.

Finally he looks around, blinks to try to see past the circle of light around him to make out the shapes in the haze of the condo’s living room. He notices my shoes then, the bright white Jordans I had tossed aimlessly behind the couch when I got here in the afternoon, and he squints hard into the gloom. “Timmy?”

I had spent the last few hours trying to come up with pithy lines to greet him.

_Hey, stranger, new in town?_

_I haven’t quaran-SEEN you in awhile, eh, man?_

_Is this where I sign up for dolphin-feeding lessons?_

But when I open my mouth, I only hear a gurgle. I can’t keep it down anymore, the thick sob that’s been in my throat since I got his text this morning.

<<Guess what>>

I’d stared at the words for a good three minutes.

<Don’t fuck with me, Hammer>

<<It’s a go. It drops at noon tomorrow>>

No air. <Get here>

<<Working on it. Home tonight>>

Since I saw him board a plane, headed back to Miami, out of the Twilight Zone.

Since I saw him on the ocean, begging for escape to Cuba, all alone in a boat with some hunk of meat at the wheel.

 _Jesus_. _Wipe that fucking smirk off your face, dude. He’s coming to me._

Since I got his call from Michigan, all of those months ago.

 _Fuck, Timmy, I don’t know how this happened. It’s fucking insane, but…it’ll be okay, I promise. And you know what that means to me to say that—I_ promise _you everything will—_

_I know, I know, I just…I…I’m so scared, Armie. What if—_

_Hey, hey, remember what we said? Do you?_

Sigh. _Yes._

_Say it to me._

The arrow of pain in my throat was cold. _Armie…_

_Say it, Tim._

A gulp, and it stabs again. “ _Sell off the lie to get to the truth.”_

_Right, and what’s the truth?_

No air. _We are._

I run at him. Run. On my toes, full-out, tube socks skidding across the light wood. And my tears are so blinding now that he’s only a dark mass against the backdrop of the white door. Somehow, he squats down at exactly the right moment to scoop me up when we collide, strong arms coming up around my ribs, folding me into his soft warmth, burying me under large hands, inside broad shoulders that have held up my whole world for years, forever.

I hear the swish of his voice in my ear, but the words are lost in the strangled bleats of my cries, wave after wave after wave. For some reason, I’m jostling around, and I finally realize it’s because he’s swaying back and forth to soothe me, rocking me like a baby, one arm bracing, holding me up; one arm massaging, calming me down.

And he smells fucking great, like gasoline and suntan lotion and _Armie_.

Both of my hands ball his t-shirt and twist. I probably take some of his back hair in them.

He hasn’t shaved in days. His scruff is long, grates against me like the splines of a slicker brush. It hurts.

I clutch tighter.

He’s still murmuring at me, “Timmy, Timmy…god, Timmy…”

His shoulder is soaked now, soaked past the outer seam, soaked down his arm. I wipe my nose on his collar, smash the cartilage into his neck, squish my skin into his.

There are fingers in my hair, against my cheek. “Hey…hey, come on now…Timmy, are you—“

I grab his ear and wrench his head around and kiss him. My face is hot, and it’s slimy with snot and tears, but he opens his mouth instantly, tugs my tongue inside with his own, lets me lap at him, my heavy breaths puckering more bubbles of mucus from my nostrils. He licks at me harder, deeper, stumbles slightly because he’s still holding both of us up under the spotlight just inches above his head. 

I don’t want to talk yet. We will. We need to, I know. A lot has happened, a lot _will_ happen. I get that. We need to unpack, eat dinner, sort through the mail. Get some sleep. Pick up Archie, pick up coffee. Pick up where we left off.

Not now, though.

Right now I need him to remind me. To reteach me what I thought I already knew.

I’ve lived for months in increments, in slots of time with no boundaries. I haven’t looked at a clock in weeks, adrift on my dystopian island of quiet isolation punctuated by bits of colored life from my phone, like transmissions from a different world that took years to reach me across a vacuum. His face on a screen, talking to me through a lens, taking me on walks while my feet never left a sofa, showing me sunrises across sand that I’ll never feel. 

I had been losing the thread of it, of what real life truly is, and I hadn’t realized that he could tell. Of course he could. He sees everything. He’d seen the brittle crack of my smile, the flicker in my eyes when they couldn’t focus fully on his face. He’d told me everything he was doing, every stupid thing. _Lookin’ for a twist tie…why’re those fuckers so hard to find? I just took it off the fucking bread_ …. He’d turn his phone around so I could see everything in front of him, so his eyes were mine, so that we were doing it all together.

Even though we weren’t.

We ate lunch together and had cocktails together and watched movies at the same time. And I was alone. He pointed out objects in the night sky that I couldn’t see because the sun in my window hadn’t set, and he told me he loved me every day, and he was tender every day, and I took every moment I could. But it had started to feel unreal, like wishing on a falling star, a distant fairy tale pinned to a speck of dust burning up in the atmosphere.

One day, he finally cracked. I’d been floundering around, making a peanut butter sandwich while he tramped through some kind of fat-leafed tropical greenery on a trail he liked to take. I hadn’t even realized he’d stopped talking until I heard a sharp, “Chalamet.”

I had looked at him on the screen, standing stock-still, mouth disappeared in a line. “I’m coming home.”

I had nodded vacantly. “Yeah, I know.” Labor Day, that was the calendar Relevant had set.

“No, I mean now. I’m buying a ticket today, and I’m flying out as soon as I can arrange a car at the other end.”

“Huh?”

“What, did I stutter? I’m done with this shit.”

My heart had thumped. “But…but what about what Evelyn said? You can’t just—“

“Fuck Evelyn.” His eyes were murderous. 

I had licked my lips, my tongue thick and useless. “Liz. Liz will never let you—“

“ _Fuck Liz_. This is bullshit.” 

The fire of it burned my fingers and I’d bobbled the phone. “What’s wrong?” I’d asked him stupidly, and the look he shot me was a lightning strike.

“You look like a fucking _zombie_ , Timmy. Every day I see you it’s like…it’s like I lose a little bit more of you, and I can’t fucking take it anymore.”

“I’m fine, Armie,” I’d whispered.

“The fuck you are! I don’t give a shit what kind of plan _they_ made. I’m making a new one! I’m not going to sit on my ass while everything just goes to shit and let you drift further away from me until—“ He cut himself off and looked around. He’d been shouting, and his jaw bulged as he ground his teeth together.

I had tried to summon some kind of theatre voice for him, to project to the back row a confidence I did not feel. “You don’t have to worry about me, Armie. I’m not going anywhere. I’m good. _We’re_ good. I swear.” I had even tried a smile.

Dumb.

He’d pulled the phone closer to his face, pinned me right in the eye. “ _Don’t_ , Tim. Don’t fucking lie to me.” And his nostrils had flared unexpectedly, his eyebrows twitching inward, and my heart had clenched. “You’re all I’ve got that’s real. Please don’t take that away from me, too.”

I’d wanted to smash my head in the refrigerator door.

Instead, I’d wiped my mouth, nodded slightly. “What are you going to do?”

“I have pissed off every government official on this island. I know I can get a flight by the end of the month. Once I get back to Florida, I’ll drive—no airports, no cameras. I’ll go off the grid or post whatever shit I can along the way. Besides, my family should hear about it from my mouth, face-to-face, before the press gets a whiff. I owe them that.”

 _You don’t owe them anything_. “Okay.”

“I’m calling Evelyn now. If she tries to stop me, I’ll fire her ass. _I am done with this_.”

When the screen had gone black, I’d sunk to the floor, tucked my knees to my chin and rocked back and forth and waited for the dizziness to pass. We’d talked about it for so long, made plans and dangled wishes, but I think a part of me thought it would never happen. We’d never been so close before.

Two hours later, my phone had rung again. When Nicole had laid out her emergency plan to me involving Mexico and a girl I’d never even met, I’d dropped it and vomited in the sink.

I lift my face up, brush my forehead over his before I loosen my legs from around his waist, and he eases me down to the floor. I grab the hem of my sweatshirt ( _his_ sweatshirt) and rip it off in one continuous motion. I hold his gaze, his eyes the color of midnight, searching and searching, and my lips pucker as I swallow, our breaths huffing loudly in the quiet. I drop the shirt on the ground and turn away toward the stairs.

I don’t look back. I know he’s with me.

When I get to the bedroom, I gouge my thumb into my waist, wrenching off my boxers and sweatpants as I walk the last few steps and climb up onto the bed. I slide to the middle of the mattress and lay on my back, stare at the beams on the ceiling until he’s hovering above me seconds later.

When he lays his fingertips lightly on my temple, strokes the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone like I’m valuable, like I’m the rarest work of art he’s ever dared himself to touch, I finally smile.

He watches my lips curl before he pins my eyes and allows his own to do the same, wicked dimples forming in his cheeks.

Then, he lowers his head and kisses me, slow, soft waves of his lips and tongue that feel like worship, like prayer, the hands that caress my chest and stomach and hips pure devotion. He sits back on his heels and massages my thighs, so I pull my knees up and hiss, “ _Please_.”

And his breath comes faster, and his palms press my thighs out just a little bit more as he dips down and nuzzles against the base of my cock, pressing under it with his tongue, his hands cupping my ass, pulling it apart with his thumbs. Squeezing my flesh, mouthing at me, saliva adding to the slick, making me whimper and squirm shamelessly. 

I’d do anything to have him. There is no shame in this at all.

When his fingers finally trace my hole, when a wet thumb dips inside and he realizes, he gasps. Clenches his hands tight around my cheeks and mutters, “Oh, _fuck_ , Timmy.”

“Been waiting for you,” I babble. “Waiting so long, Armie…so long…”

I close my eyes and hear him pant, hear the sheets rustle and the gentle flick of a cap before hot, slippery fingers tug at my hips and he slowly, _so_ slowly, works himself inside. I’ve opened myself for him, but it’s still tight, still a reminder of how unprepared my body is to be away from his for too long.

But he’s so gentle, and he kisses my chest, my throat, my mouth, and he waits for me, and there is no way that I would not devour everything that he has to give me.

I hold out my hands and he takes them, webs our fingers together, and when he is seated fully inside me, he spreads our arms and anchors our fists to the mattress, whimpering softly.

And I open my eyes to his beautiful face, red and wrecked, a small vertical line stitched between his eyebrows.

“Hi there,” I murmur. “Welcome home.”

All the air leaves him in a groan. His hands retract and gather up my body, holding me against him as he starts to move, tight waves that begin to stretch and unravel as his lips trace my ear and the corner of my jaw, as my hands grip his waist and the jut of his hip, when I fumble at his mouth and dig my heels into the back of his legs.

And when the syllables of his name have melted away into moans, he loosens a hand from my back to stuff between us.

“No!” I groan and lift my hips to meet his steady thrusts, feel the pieces of his control peel away and shred my own until it's all gone, until I feel the warm rush of him inside me at the moment I spill between us, and I have the crazy thought that I had no idea what was him and what was me, until I realized there wasn’t a difference at all.

“I love you, Timmy. God, I love you, I love you so much…” He falls to the side of me and pulls me against his slick skin, and my knee goes between his legs, my cheek pillowed on his bicep. He’s panting, out of breath. _It’s all right_. I kiss the corner of his mouth. _You can have mine._

* * *

I wake with a jolt, my face pressed into the pillow.

I hadn’t slept well for weeks, and for once, I had been dead to the world. My brain is still numb, swimming in that subterranean pool of forgetfulness, the one that gives you a few seconds of peace before full alertness yanks you back into glum reality.

I rub at my eyes, try to get them to focus, wait for the prickle of loneliness to return.

_Why is it so hot in here? Is the air out?_

I punch at the blanket with my elbow.

“Ouch.”

I whip my head around to Armie’s half smile, his head resting in his palm, the outline of sunshine behind the drawn blinds giving him a blurred halo. 

My hand darts out and shoves his shoulder, knocking him flat, and I scramble up and straddle his torso. “You’re here,” I say. I’m asking, really. I trust nothing.

Two fingers reach up and brush a hunk of hair off my forehead. “I’m here.”

I close my eyes, lay my palms on his chest, feel his heart pulse inside.

My nails dig into his skin. Harder. Harder.

“ _Ouch_ ,” he says again, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t knock my hands away and tell me to cut it out.

I lick my lips and lower my head, lay my ear against his skin and listen to my name echo inside his body. _TIM-my, TIM-my_. He’d told me once that’s what it was saying, that “CardioHammer” should be the fourth language that I learn.

 _It was the first_.

I sit back up and look at him. He’s still gazing at me with soft eyes and his shmoopy smile. His skin is tanned, but drawn, the lines around his eyes deepened, just like the dark circles beneath them. And he has to be exhausted. He’s been stranded in the lion’s den, keeping up appearances and staying happy for his kids, rubbing balm on my wounds week after week. Then, he drove across the country through pockets of Nazis and bigots, yet it’s _his_ demons that were chanted over by the zealot he’s tried and failed to please his entire life.

He’s been through hell.

“Want me to make you breakfast?” I trail a finger down his sternum.

His teeth flash. “Sure. Whaddaya got in this joint?”

My eyes narrow. “Umm…Raisin Bran…maybe...?”

He snorts. “Yum. Got any milk?”

“Oh. Ahh…Well…”

Armie’s eyes crinkle as he laughs, his palms running up and down my thighs. “So let me get this straight: with ample time to prepare for my arrival, you made sure you bought a fresh bottle of lube in the convenient economy size and used a third of it to stretch yourself open, but you couldn’t go to the grocery store for, like, milk or eggs or bacon?”

My cheeks flush, and I shrug helplessly. “Well, I…I just…a guy has his priorities, Armie…”

He laughs harder, jerking me around as his belly clenches, and then he pulls my head down with both hands, kisses me quickly, kisses me again, and again more slowly. “You’re a genius, Timmy,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I straighten my legs along his and flop around to tuck myself under his arm, pet at his chest hair, curl it around my index finger. “What do you want to do today?”

“First thing? Turn our phones off. And not just _muted_ —I want them OFF. Everyone else can go fuck themselves. I’m not dealing with anyone’s shit until Monday, and neither are you.”

“Works for me.” I stretch my neck to bite into his, then suck hard on the spot. “What else?”

He hums, and his paw massages my arm in circles. “Let’s see…eat a burrito…shower…have some food…wash these sheets before the health department shows up...”

“Wait, eat a burrito _and_ have food?”

“Yep.”

“You must be super hungry,” I huff.

“Yep.”

I see him looking over at me under heavy lids, and finally it dawns.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” I mutter. I can’t believe he remembers that. And just like that, I’m half hard, and I grind lightly into the side of his hip. “You know I love you, right?”

“Do you?” His eyebrow raises, and _fuck_ is he delicious. He reaches over, runs his fingertips down my stomach, curls them around my cock, then licks his lips. 

I groan and fight to focus. I’ve got to make sure he knows. “No…I mean, _yes_ , I do.” I put my palm on his cheek, claw my hand into his hair. “I really love you, Armie. Are you listening to me? I’m in this with you, all the way. And I know it will be hard, and you’ll have a ton of shit thrown at you, and you might want to walk away, but I—“

“Easy, Timmy, easy.” His voice is warm, and he kisses my temple. I’m shaking. When did that start? “Look, you’re right. It’s going to be hard for both of us, but we knew that from the start, right?”

I nod.

“It’s already been hard for us, and it hasn’t stopped me.”

I shake my head. “How are you so fucking _calm_ about everything?”

He cards a hand through my hair. “I’ve had a lot of time to think.” He huffs. “Since March, all I’ve _done_ is think—think about how many mistakes I’ve made over the years…think about maybe I’m making another by screwing up your life before you’ve even had a chance to really start it…” He tips my chin up. “Think about whether I should just disappear and set you free before you’re drug under the water to drown.”

My lips go numb. “Armie, _please_ —“

A finger stops my mouth. “But then I thought about how many of my mistakes have involved denying myself happiness or pretending it wasn't important, and I realized how stupid it would be to do that _again_ , to both of us.” He runs his thumb over my bottom lip. “I used to think that I had to do what was expected of me, to live up to my name and be ‘that guy,’ and if I could manage to get everyone to believe it, that would make me worth something, make me feel satisfied. But that’s not the truth.”

I kiss his thumb. “And what is the truth, Armie?” I whisper.

He smiles, sure and beautiful. _Free_. “We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter has the details of Armie's love of burritos. 😉
> 
> A resounding high-five to Willowbrooke for her unfailing eye!

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not sick of me and you've actually read this, I am grateful to you! I do not take your time or your kindness for granted! ❤️


End file.
